


Winning Isn't Everything

by FunkyinFishnet



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Celebrations, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, M/M, Male Slash, Sex, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-01
Updated: 2012-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-11 05:27:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/475009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyinFishnet/pseuds/FunkyinFishnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Fernando wins the 2012 European Grand Prix, Mark helps him blow off victory steam the right way and gives him exactly what they both need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winning Isn't Everything

**Author's Note:**

> Entirely the fault of gemjam who inspired me with her own awesome Mark/Fernando fic and then once I'd admitted I had ideas of my own to write, poked me until I posted. You're an evil genius and you're awesome :) Translation of Spanish words and phrases can be found after the story.

Fernando seemed to be everywhere at once after his win. He was talking to the press, he was waving to the crowds, he was drinking dregs of champagne out of that enormous winner’s bottle. He was sweating and he was happy. Mark carefully and constantly watched from the sidelines, casually checking on the Spaniard as he did his own press, agreeing almost amiably with the reporters' claims that he'd done well today to climb up the grid to fourth. And was he going to push for an investigation into the accusation that Michael had opened his DRS outside of the zone? Mark replied that he’d talk to his team first.

 

 

Speaking of which, there was Christian, fielding a million bloody questions about Sebastian’s engine troubles. Mark tipped his chin in sympathy and gave the signal for where he’d be. Christian acknowledged it, as casually as a nod, and signalled back equally leisurely. Nobody would realise what it meant – that they'd debrief with him tomorrow. Christian would have his hands full tonight anyway dealing with the fallout from Sebastian’s sudden exit from the race. Mark grinned and headed to the motor-homes.

 

 

He took a side door into the Ferrari one. Christian would let Stefano know what was going on and Stefano would be grateful. Fernando needed dealing with after such a massive winning high and it was up to Mark to deal with him. That would be a pleasure. It always was.

 

 

The shower was on. Fernando had finished his many post-race duties. Mark stripped off his racing suit and left it piled up by the bathroom door. It was as clear a sign as any. Stefano would order people out, but there was always somebody around. Mark sent a brief text to his Mum to let her know that he was fine, uninjured and that he’d call her in the morning. He didn’t give a reason. He didn’t have to.

 

 

Fernando wasn’t singing but he was humming something. Mark couldn’t identify the tune. He eased his way silently into the bathroom. It was pretty big for a motor-home and the shower was just about comfortable enough for two people. It was like the designers had known what it would often be used for. Mark glanced quickly in the mirror – he looked slightly buzzed, the high of the race still fizzing under his skin, but his eyes were sharp and his Mum was probably going to tell him that he needed a haircut. Mark’s reflection smirked at him.

 

 

In the shower, Fernando was still making music. Mark slipped through the door and was confronted by the smooth tanned expanse of Fernando’s back. The Spaniard was soaking his hair under the hot water, steam swathing him and filling the room. Mark's eyes zeroed in on metal cuff bracelet secured around Fernando's wrist. It was red and black – the team colours got literally everywhere - and there was no obvious clasp. It showed everybody who Fernando belonged to.

 

 

Fernando had his eyes closed, lost in his own triumphant world. Mark’s grin flashed with teeth.

 

 

He grabbed a bottle from the wall-rack. Fernando’s humming wavered for a second at the noise, but before he could turn, Mark pulled him back flush against his chest. Fernando made a startled noise and Mark’s breath caressed his ear. Mark closed his eyes briefly, enjoying the slippery sensation of Fernando’s lithe wet body tight against his.

 

 

“You should behave yourself.”

 

 

Fernando made a throaty noise of agreement, but nothing that sounded like words. Mark sucked at his earlobe before applying some teeth. Fernando arched back and started to turn before Mark locked him into place, facing away.

 

 

“Eyes front.”

 

 

The sound that erupted out of Fernando's throat was almost a whine and he shifted restlessly within the tight grip of Mark's arms. Mark smirked as he trailed sharp biting kisses down Fernando's neck. Fernando was rattling inside his own skin, pent up with the emotional and physical high of a home country win. He needed to be taken apart piece by piece. He needed Mark, and Mark would have to remind him of that.

 

 

Mark sucked and bit at Fernando's neck, leaving a vivid blotch behind. A signature for Fernando to see in the mirror tomorrow, a reminder of who he belonged to, win or lose. Fernando tilted his head to give Mark better access. He might fight for control of the situation, because Fernando was used to instantly getting what he wanted, but once Mark reminded him of what he **really** wanted, Fernando always began to let go.

 

 

It was a beautiful thing to see.

 

 

Mark stroked down his chest and spoke into the bruised skin of his neck. “So you broke the streak. First repeat winner this season.”

 

 

Fernando cleared his throat and when Mark didn't tell him no talking, he replied “Yes, _maestro_.”

 

 

That nickname had started off as a petulant joke that had gotten Fernando twisting under Mark begging for mercy, for **anything** , for several hours straight. Fernando still occasionally used it as an insult when they weren’t alone, but privately, it had become something else entirely and it pleased Mark to hear the word roll off Fernando’s tongue. Mark tugged at his hair; just on the hard side of firm so that it sent the right amount of pain through Fernando and made him gasp. It was a reward and a signal that Fernando would enjoy further rewards if he behaved himself. If he could follow instructions and be good.

 

 

When Fernando stood much stiller than before, waiting for Mark to speak, Mark grinned and sharply smacked him on the thigh. Fernando arched back again, needy and wanton and perfect. Mark opened the bottle and squeezed out a dewy coconut-scented handful of shampoo. He began washing Fernando's hair and massaging his scalp. Fernando still smelled faintly of champagne, it probably gotten into his every pore. The sweet smell of victory.

 

 

Mark licked at Fernando's jawbone. A sweet taste too.

 

 

Rinsing out the shampoo, Mark grabbed the pine body wash. Every driver loved that post-race shower. Being in the cars for so long in a full racing suit and helmet meant a lot of gathering sweat. Fernando obediently raised his arms and turned whichever way Mark told him to. Fernando was hard and wanting and impatient but he didn't try to make Mark hurry up. He knew that that would only make Mark go excruciatingly slowly as punishment. He was learning.

 

 

When Mark finished and put the bottles back, Fernando leaned with him, wanting to stay as close as possible to the contours of Mark's body. Knowing that he'd done that to Fernando made Mark grip the Spaniard a little tighter. Fernando wanted so much. It was always a fantastic feeling to peel back Fernando's layers of haughty arrogance and expectation that he should be offered and given everything, and get to the root of it all, to the sheer neediness that always lurked there.

 

 

Mark rested a hand on Fernando's stomach, his fingers moving lightly. Fernando twitched at the contact, so obviously wanting more. Mark nipped his shoulder.

 

 

“Say it.”

 

 

This was the real battle. Fernando's body was always quicker to get in line than his mind. For all his team talk in the F1 world, privately Fernando was too often mulishly unable to say that he needed somebody to take him apart and to have all the control. Admitting that still felt like too much of a weakness to him, like something to be laughed at. He had learned the hard way that Mark did not approve of that kind of thinking.

 

 

Mark kept his hand moving faintly, always skating away from the hard length so close beneath. Fernando crooned in frustration.

 

 

“This is all you're gonna get if you don't say it.”

 

 

It didn't matter that Fernando had won the race. If he didn't own what he wanted, what he needed, then he wasn't going to get it. At the beginning of their relationship, Mark had once made him go for days without touch, showing Fernando how serious he was about Fernando’s behaviour. Fernando had sulked and snarled and said that nobody treated him this way. Mark had told him that that was the problem.

 

 

Mark had refused to give him what he wanted until it had looked like Fernando would snap and binge on anyone who’d have him. Then Mark had spent an extremely thorough weekend taking Fernando apart again and again, pushing him until he gave up everything like he so obviously needed and wanted to. He reminded Fernando of why it felt so good to give somebody else the driver’s seat for a while. Mark never left him that bereft of touch again. He didn’t need to.

 

 

Fernando cursed in Spanish. Mark moved his hands down to Fernando’s thighs. Fernando tipped his head back and rested it against Mark’s shoulder. He was panting and wanting and yet still he fought against revealing just how much he wanted Mark to devour him. Mark didn’t give the command again. He nibbled on Fernando’s neck, over the beautiful bruising there. Fernando liked a little pain, the exquisite knife edge of it. Fernando was close to letting go. He arched and cursed some more. Mark increased the pressure on his neck.

 

 

“ _Si_ , I want……I want this, you. Inside. _Por favor_.”

 

 

Mark bit down harder and Fernando cried out, his legs weakening at the sudden pleasure-pain spike. Mark licked at the bite – no blood drawn, because he wasn't an amateur – and nuzzled into Fernando’s neck and cheek.

 

 

“ _Bueno_ ,” he breathed, because Fernando always got aroused when Mark spoke his language even if his accent was for shit. And Fernando deserved a reward.

 

 

Mark arched back and snagged the lotion bottle. He slicked his fingers up and started working one inside Fernando without warning. Fernando let out a happy breath, mewling when Mark briefly gripped his cock at the base. Oh, he wasn’t going to get everything at once. He never did.

 

 

“You’re not coming yet.”

 

 

Fernando knew what would happen if he did. Mark leisurely worked another finger in. God, that felt good. It wasn’t just Fernando who needed this time together. He was a little pent up himself after his shitty qualifier and then having to fight his way up the grid for hours. Fernando was exactly what Mark needed. The Spaniard felt fucking fantastic. Mark smiled as Fernando’s hips began to roll, as he worked himself back onto Mark’s fingers. He was especially beautiful when he was desperate.

 

 

“That’s it. _Mas_.”

 

 

Fernando obliged, his movements becoming more frantic. Mark loved it when he could make the man half out of his mind with pleasure. Wanton was a particularly good look on him. He eased a third finger in, which Fernando greedily accepted. Mark worked him that way for long minutes, enjoying the view, before pulling out. Fernando muttered in protest, but stilled at Mark’s warning smack to his thigh. Mark slicked up his cock, patted Fernando’s hip to signal that he needed to brace himself against the tiles, and then pushed his way in. Fernando choked out laboured breaths. He sounded wrecked. He sounded perfect.

 

 

Mark waited a moment to settle himself, to luxuriate in that feeling of being surrounded by Fernando, then he held onto Fernando’s hips and started a steady thorough rhythm. Fernando drove back into the thrusts so eagerly. Mark dug his nails in, knowing what it would do to Fernando.

 

 

“No coming until I say.”

 

 

Fernando whined, at the high pleasure and sharp pain sensations, at Mark’s instruction, probably both, and kept on pushing back. Mark’s hips pistoned faster and he gripped Fernando tighter. Fernando caught his rhythm and kept up, only slightly sloppy around the edges. Being an F1 driver honed your timing and your control and Fernando was one of the best. So was Mark.

 

 

For long delicious moments, they moved almost as one, giving the other exactly what they needed. Fernando’s control began to fray slightly. He gulped out pleas and curses in Spanglish. His arms shook as he held himself in place. The bracelet reflected the light. Mark slowed his pace to deep and dragging, making Fernando slur his words and beg so prettily.

 

 

“ _Por favor_. Too much. _Soy tuyo_. Please. Oh, please.”

 

 

Mark was a strong man but it had been a long day and he couldn’t hold it off anymore. “Come.”

 

 

His cock untouched, Fernando howled and shook through his release. The tight press of muscle around Mark’s cock triggered his own orgasm. He growled and threw his head back, briefly open mouthed, as he finished, rinsing his face under the still-warm water. Making sure they weren’t leaving any sticky surprises behind for Fernando’s team, Mark flicked the shower off. He drew out of Fernando without ceremony. Fernando twitched at the feeling but stayed bowed over. He was still pretty into his subspace. Mark ran a pleased hand down Fernando’s back. It hadn’t taken as long as it sometimes did for Fernando to vocalise.

 

 

Mark pulled Fernando away from the wall and turned him so that they were finally facing each other. Fernando’s eyes were half-lidded now and his mouth was as temptingly lush as ever. He looked completely sated. Mark tucked him in closer and pressed his lips against Fernando’s. He licked Fernando’s mouth open greedily and gave the kiss plenty of teeth and tongue before gentling it into something softer.

 

 

He kissed Fernando’s forehead once and said quietly “ _Buen muchacho_.”

 

 

Fernando made a sleepy happy noise, his expression lighting up from the praise, and nuzzled against Mark’s cheek, pliant and pleased. Mark held him there for a while, the steam still ghosting around them, the lights seeming weirdly too bright now. Mark kissed Fernando’s cheekbones, then the triumphant bruise on his neck, before helping him out of the shower and into a thick towel robe. He towelled Fernando’s hair to a drier state and grabbed a robe for himself. Before anything else could happen, he popped out to bang on the nearest door. His racing gear was gone. Christian’s spies were everywhere.

 

 

“Bathroom's free.”

 

 

There were several shouts of acknowledgement from beyond. Mark slipped back into the bathroom to retrieve Fernando, who looked pretty zoned-out and somehow ridiculously beautiful in a plain towel robe and with rumpled hair. Mark felt a familiar and powerful surge of heat and affection for the Spaniard and tugged him closer. The champagne smell was gone now, replaced by coconut, pine, and him.

 

 

“So we need to eat. Then later you’re going to suck my cock and I’m going to fuck you into the mattress until we get noise complaints.”

 

 

Fernando breathed in sharply and leaned even closer. His lips mouthed lazy agreement along the curve of Mark's shoulder, with an eager sharpness of teeth included. Mark grinned and held out his hand. The bracelet snugly encircled Fernando's wrist. Fernando took Mark's hand without hesitation.

 

 

_-the end_

  
Translations  
maestro - master  
si - yes  
por favor - please  
bueno - good  
mas - more  
soy tuyo - I am yours  
buen muchacho - good boy


End file.
